Be Mine
by Toccata No. 9
Summary: He's spent Valentine's Day with women before. Jonathan/Sherry and Jonathan/Linda.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I do not own.

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There's no point trying to avoid mud on the way home. It smears up his sneakers to lick the cuff of his pants. Jonathan exhales once, quietly, and rolls his shoulders. He'll need to change socks when he gets home.

Somebody approaches. What starts as a glance back stops him short.

Sherry, clutching her umbrella with one hand and a bag over the other, still waves as she hurries to meet him.

"Hey!"

Her boots squelch. There are pink hearts on them to match the polo, and even with a sweater she looks cold. Skirt probably wasn't a good idea. Jonathan avoids her thighs as he peers under his hood, becoming conscious of water on his glasses that he wishes he could wipe clean.

She's beside him now, grin stretched breathless. Straight as Sherry keeps her hair it is starting to frizz, and she brushes a few strands off her face before speaking. "You left in a hurry today."

He struggles for a moment with the possibility of explaining himself, how his best hope was not to be noticed, to watch girls with their roses and boys with their notes and it's not anything he _needs_ but the possibility of someone pointing out all the ways he is unsatisfying he is unequipped he is unworthy he needs to be unseen today and—

"Not really." He thinks he should smirk like he'd said something clever, but analyzes the state of his shoelaces instead. "You stayed a while."

He hears the laugh as it sneaks past her teeth. "Not really," says Sherry, and he never knows what to do when she teases him, can only watch when she puts her hand on his elbow. "I had to stuff a fucking bear in my locker. Think someone should give me an award for making it."

"Congratulations," he says. It sounds drier than intended.

Her lips and eyebrows lift, as if answering a challenge. "Why thank you, Jonathan Crane. It's good to know _someone _appreciates what I put up with." He snorts, and she chuckles. "I do have something though."

"What do you mean?"

She fumbles with her purse, rifling through makeup and electronics and whatever else she carries until removing a single, white envelope. He sees his name.

"Here." She holds it out to him. She expects him to take it. The card is in his hand. This must be a mistake.

"I didn't get you anything," he hears himself say, numbly. Her handwriting is loose. Careless. She's looking at him. She's smiling.

"I didn't expect you to.' Sherry stands on tiptoe. Her mouth presses, for a moment, into his cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

There is an instant of panic when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He's been found. They're going to hoist him to his feet hit him in the stomach empty his lungs bash his face until he drops so they can drag him to the room to the aviary to the field to be tied up on display a scarecrow—

He's on his feet, turning, staggering, supporting himself against his desk, reaching for canisters that aren't there, looking at Linda where she stands illuminated against the lamp. Like a ghost.

She draws back quickly.

"I'm sorry Professor Crane," and it's just above a whisper, the words a rush he almost can't catch, "You fell asleep and it didn't seem right to leave you there all night. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine." The breath leaves him, he lets his head drop, runs a hand over his face. Stops, straightens his glasses. Looks up again. "It's fine. Stop apologizing."

"I'm sorry," she says, then quickly covers her mouth."Shit!"

Jonathan chuckles despite himself. The remaining tension drains. He leans back. "Waking up like that would have been inconvenient. You did the right thing."

"Thank you, sir." Her cheeks are scarlet. It isn't something she can hide. His mouth quirks, and this time he catches himself and looks away. It doesn't quite dissipate.

"Um." He turns. Linda is peering up at him, hands clasped at her waist. No makeup tonight. "Are…you should really go to bed."

He cocks an eyebrow. Waits.

She's practically wringing her hands, peeking at the floor and back, ponytail mussed and so white he almost can't believe she's real. "You've been working very hard these past few days and I know this is important to you but it's okay, we're already ahead of schedule and if you want I can finish in the meantime so there's nothing left to worry about—"

"It's not that important, actually." He hums once, amused. "Only a job when it all comes down to it. I do get wrapped up sometimes."

She hesitates. "So you're… You don't mind?"

He yawns, stretches, arms extending over his head absently. Grimaces and drops back down when his shirt rises, revealing a patch of skin.

Of course Linda giggles. Of course.

"Shit," he says wryly, which only makes it worse, she's covering her mouth with _both _hands as he straightens. "But no," she looks up as he says it, her eyes crinkling at the corners, "I don't mind."

He walks toward the door, arm flitting into a casual wave. "Goodnight, Linda."

"Goodnight," he hears behind him. A moment passes, he's almost out when she calls. "Jonathan?"

Naturally he pauses. She hurries to meet him, stops, hesitates again.

"Yes?" he prompts. Linda beckons. Jonathan sighs, leans forward.

The kiss lands on his forehead, so quick it could almost be imagined, warm and moist and a little too hard before she darts back.

"Happy Valentine's Day."


End file.
